


A Matter of Perspective

by Choice



Series: A Matter of Things [1]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Bilbo is totally smitten, Community: hobbit_kink, Culture Clashes, Dwarven Culture, M/M, Other, Pregnancy Kink, and also slightly mortified, pre-Bagginshield - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2018-03-12 08:41:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3350435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Choice/pseuds/Choice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Bilbo does his best to wrap his head around the enigmas that are his dear dwarven companions and their strange ways.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Matter of Perspective

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt over at hobbit_kink--
> 
> _'Dwarf men find pregnant women very sexy. Can be any rating. Prefer female OC or a canon female rather than genderswapped Bilbo/company. Can be anything from actual pregnancy sex to the Dwarf just admiring her from afar. I just want the vibe of 'oh Mahal look at that burgeoning symbol of fertility, that is the most gorgeous thing ever.'_
> 
> Just for a point of reference, this takes place around the time that the Company takes up temporary residence in Laketown. Enjoy(?)!  
>  
> 
> I added a twist of Bagginshield at the end because, well, I just couldn't help myself. *hides*
> 
> Enjoy(?)!

Bilbo never thought he'd be thankful for the pungent air of Laketown; however, after spending the better part of the past fortnight with a head cold that left his brain addled and nose completely stoppered shut, he's practically relishing the aromas of stagnant, briny water and stale fish.

He's decided to have a bit of an outing with some of the other dwarrows today, taking advantage of his lifted spirits and renewed vigor in hopes that he might figure out why Bofur and Nori come back to their temporary abode looking particularly like the cats who've eaten the canaries. Come to think of it, the slightly lovesick expressions that the younger Durins have been sporting as of late have been particularly confounding as well... 

Bilbo relishes in clothes that are significantly less threadbare--even if he's slightly abashed that the material is so lavish--and is only a handful of satisfied sighs away from whistling out a chipper tune when it happens.

He's so caught up in his own enjoyment of Life After the Sickness that he practically maims himself tripping over the suddenly stock-still collection of his dwarven ilk. He lets out an undignified yelp as his sudden downward progression is halted, ever so abruptly, by a meaty paw that grabs a handful of his lavish outer coat.

 _Talk about taking the term_ crushed _velvet to an entirely new meaning,_ he thinks to himself as he smooths down his attire, offering Thorin a distracted thank-you-kindly. It's only when he doesn't receive the usual baritone, sassy remark for his troubles that he fathoms a glance upwards.

And the glance resolves itself into a full-blown stare.

Because Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain, unofficial Master of Majestic Petulance, is n't even looking in Bilbo's general vicinity. No, he's gazing off into the distance with a look on his face that is far too reminiscent of those Bilbo had seen on many a young, bashful faunt under the warm glow of the Party Tree in Midsummers past.

Bilbo resists the urge to clear his throat and lecture Thorin on Basic Etiquette 101 (because apparently good manners are only for hobbits!), feeling a lot like a bird whose feathers have been well and ruffled. Instead, he swallows his indignation in favor of indulging his Tookish curiosity. 

He slips past the stock-still dwarrows with all of the finesse of a true burglar, and casts his gaze hither and yon. After a moment, his brow furrows in confusion.

"What in the name of Sweet Yavanna are you confounded dwarrows all slack-jawed over?" He finally asks, still looking around for the sight of an orc, an elf, _anything_ out of the ordinary in this town of Men-folk.

"You don't see her?" Ori practically squeaks, face as red as one of Bilbo's prize-winning tomatoes. 

" _Who?_ " Bilbo retorts, nearly tossing his hands into the air in frustration. 

" _Her,_ " Kili, sounding positively drunk on hormones, chokes out. Bilbo tries to see anything noteworthy, nothing besides families milling about the marketplace, carrying baskets, corralling children, bartering over wares on display, and falls short. 

When he finally looks to Thorin, askance and completely at a loss, Bilbo is startled to notice the faint flush decorating the typically stoic dwarf's cheeks. Silently, Thorin jerks his chin to his right. Bilbo follows his gesture to...

"What, that woman over there, in the red tunic and sage skirt?” Bilbo pauses for the nod of confirmation. His brow furrows. “What about her?”

Thorin wears an affronted look that is perfectly matched by his sister-sons. Luckily, it’s Bofur who pipes up in indignation, otherwise Bilbo is _sure_ that he and Thorin would have devolved into a petty arguing match in no time at all.

“How can you not see it?” he cries with an easy grin. “You notice the color of her bloomin’ finery, but you don’t notice how handsomely her stomach swells forth?”

“Why, she’s practically filled to burst,” Nori remarks, eyeing the human woman none too subtly.

Bilbo wrinkles his nose and looks at the woman again. “Well, yes, she’s with child, but what does any of this have to do with—“

“What’s wrong with you, isn’t that the most becoming figure you’ve ever beheld?” Fili yelps. Bilbo flushes as he thinks of the irritatingly all too _becoming_ king standing just a few paces to his side. 

Bilbo pauses, tilting his head to the side as he looks over all of his dwarrows. “Hold on. You mean to tell me that the sight of a pregnant woman is…” he swallows, his hobbitish sense of decency trying and failing to come up with terminology less crude. “…Arousing?”

He has all eyes on him now, and he reddens under the unusual amount of attention he’s garnering.

“You mean it isn’t for you?” Kili pipes up after a beat, voicing the confusion of everyone else, it seems, as the rest of the dwarrows nod along in agreement. 

“No! I mean,” Bilbo sputters, flailing his arms around uselessly, “Sure, I’m quite happy for her and her kin, don’t get me wrong, but… Well, it just seems a bit… strange to me, is all. It—I just…” He flounders at the varied looks of offense and/or utter _Are you shitting me right now?_ “Pregnant lasses are nothing out of the ordinary! In the Shire, at the least,” he hastens to add.

The looks of calculated interest he receives at his admittance makes him want to eat a smelly fisherman’s boot rather than continue with the ongoing conversation. As it is, he wallows in his embarrassment as Thorin finally explains the dwarrows’ absolutely mind-melting behavior.

“We are not borne of the Shire, Bilbo,” he says slowly, as if talking to someone especially slow of mind. “Where we are from, children are scarce. And when a dwarrowdam is with child…” Thorin gets a faraway look in his sinfully blue eyes. “It is a treasured, blessed dwarf who should sire offspring in these times, when hope is so scarce. To have such honor is a blessing from Mahal himself.”

“So… pregnancy is like a gift, then?” Bilbo asks hesitantly, haltingly, because by god, he’s trying to wrap his head around this quirk of his dwarrows’, just as they stomach his eccentricities and customs. “Like a rare gem, or an object of desire?”

“Precisely, Burglar,” Thorin rumbles, pleasure evident in his tone. Bilbo tries not to let it show just how much Thorin’s approval tickles his fancy, he really does, but he knows his stupid ears are probably _glowing_ right now, and—

“Ho-ho, lookit this, dear brother!” Kili snickers, elbowing Fili as he chortles. “Looks like our beloved burglar sees something _he_ quite fancies!”

Bilbo has never wished to be ill _more_ than right at that moment, hoping he’d stumble and fall over the docks into the murky waters below, but when he catches Thorin’s eye and sees that bashful look sent _his_ way, well…

Maybe Bilbo is more equipped to accept his dwarrows’ eccentricities, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Please offer up constructive criticism if you have any! I'm a longtime lurker in the fandom, and I've been itching to get into the groove of writing again. :)
> 
> xo-  
> Lyss


End file.
